That Ritzy Jazz
by Sky the wolfdog9
Summary: Oneshot.  Countries had memory lapses every now and then.  This was probably the most ridiculous America has gone through...and with France nonetheless.  Jazz Age America and France.  Hinted USUK and Franada.


** Lol, I'm sort of obsessed with the Jazz Ages in France and America right now, so this was spawned because of that :3 I even changed my avatar to a jazz themed picture I drew on DA :3 Hope you like it ;D**

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Because they had so much memories stored in their heads, they'd lose said body part (not literally), not in an insane way, but more of a memory lapse. It didn't happen much, but sometimes it'd happen. One day Romano burst in, wielding a Tommy gun and screaming for everyone to get on the ground or he'll shoot. Italy had hit the deck immediately, absolutely terrified with what was happening. Only a few knew what was happening while others worried for Romano's mental health. Either that, or Spain had managed to get Romano to pull some sick prank on them.

Another case was when Japan experienced his third memory lapse (the other two having been experienced a about a few centuries ago) in the middle of a meeting. His eyes had widened at his laptop in front of him before slapping his thigh, likely thinking that a sword was attached. Uncharacteristically, he wailed in surprise, not recognizing the technology or any other country that didn't reside in Asia. Japan then jumped up and a huge struggle to suppress the panicking island nation.

It was even rarer for it to happen to two countries at the same time, but it'd happened once so far. It was both America and England, and their memory lapses just happened to be on the same subject. England had burst into the conference room, absolutely pissed before stopping short, his memory lapse beginning just as he turned the corner in the hallway. He demanded where he was before gaping at the amount of cords the projector had running around the floor. At first he was mesmerized at the sudden advancement in technology before America burst in just as abruptly.

"What in bloody hell are you doing here?" England demanded. "You're not a country!"

"Yes I am! I _will_ be!" and it soon followed with angry yelling. Germany and a few choice others soon had to separate the two English speaking countries.

Normally once they snapped out of their memory tweaks, they'd be left with a splitting headache and vague memories of what they did. America had muttered about not wanting to go through it ever again.

Too bad for him, that wasn't the case.

America swung the door open loudly, grinning widely at the countries sitting around the table, not exactly suspecting a thing…well…that fedora looked a bit off…and that strange suit. It caught England, Canada and a few others' attentions, the others too busy with either flirting with each other or preparing for the meeting. The earlier was more likely.

"Ah! Beating your gums over here?" America asked with a cheeky grin as he heavily seated himself in the chair next to England and Canada. "Oh, Canada bro, just found this new really great speakeasy that we can visit some time eh?" he continued, throwing an arm around Canada's shoulders and pulling him closer. "And what's with these glowing things?"

"U-uh," Canada stuttered, remembering how he used to 'bootleg' with America almost a century ago. "America…are you okay? Is this a memory lapse?"

"What? Pfft! That's a buncha baloney," he waved a hand in the air carelessly before letting go of his neighbor before leaning towards England and pulling him closer with one arm slung around the Brit's shoulders. "And how's this wet blanket doing?"

Furrowing his large eyebrows, England clearly had no vague idea to what America was saying. "When did he talk like this again?"

Canada itched at the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh…I think it started in the nineteen twenties…I'm sure you don't really know because you were mulling over Wilson not doing what you expected him to do or something along those lines…"

"Nineteen twenties?"

"_Bonjour mes amis! Amerique! _It's good to see you!" this time everyone looked up at the Frenchman since his entrance was a bit more verbal. Most cocked their eyebrows at the newsboy hat that rested atop his curly hair and the outdated suit much like America's.

"Looking spiffy France," America grinned, letting go of England and approaching the other out of place looking country. "Canada and England over there are talkin' baloney," he threw an arm around France's shoulders. "Oh, and those glowing things look pretty swanky—cash or check?" Canada turned dark red.

"That's ridiculous—you should be asking England that," France winked before shrugging America's arm off of his shoulders. America snickered before plopping down in what used to be his assigned seat back in the nineteen twenties, though nobody said anything. Leaning forward, he grinned at the laptop in front of him.

"These things are so cool!" well at least they wouldn't have to deal with a wartime memory lapse—those were the most taxing. Three of England's four time lapses had been war related, the fourth and most recent being all the way back to the nineteenth century. He had arrived in some spiffy Victorian style clothing and America, from what he had remembered, couldn't stop looking at him for some reason, a stupid grin stretching at his lips.

"Oh God, France better not be in the Jazz Age too…" England muttered to Canada who sighed.

"Just be thankful it's not you and America again, that was just hell," Canada whispered back. "And that America's not a cowboy either…" England blushed furiously at the memory. After the meeting…well…after the meeting, all he could say was that things got steamy….oh and quite a few meters of rope got involved.

"Don't mention that ever again," England muttered and Canada rolled his eyes wordlessly. He glanced back over at his rival and the superpower, the two chatting rather animatedly. America was going on about the laptops again, motioning wildly at them with a huge toothy grin as Francis furrowed his eyebrows at the contraptions. It was actually kind of funny once you thought a little more into it.

"I wonder what those squares do," America leant closer to the screen of the laptop and pressed one of the keys. "Hm. What's to point of making something when it does nothing? Man, this thing could ball anyone up, why would you even make it?" he sat straightened up, cocking an eyebrow down at England who remained unresponsive—he didn't want to deal with nineteen twenties America mostly because he had no idea what a nineteen twenties America was like. He did vaguely know what Jazz Age France was like, and he definitely didn't use the wacky vocabulary America was spouting at the moment. "Hey Iggsters, could you show me how to use this thing?"

Iggsters…that was a new one. "Canada can do that for you," England waved his hand in the air in a dismissing gesture and Canada furrowed his eyebrows at England, looking slightly betrayed.

Seating himself heavily in America's chair, Canada opened a Microsoft Word document. America's expressions varied from extremely interested to amused to all of them in between. Unfortunately, just because he was acting like he was almost a century younger, didn't mean everything changed. "I'm bored."

England facepalmed—did he seriously not expect for that to happen? "So Canadia—you gonna come to that ritzy speakeasy with me or not?" Alfred grinned, throwing an arm around Canada's shoulder as his look-alike corrected his mistake quietly only to be interrupted. "Frenchie—Canadia here's my bootlegger."

"That is wonderful to know," France nodded his head, feigning interest. "I think you've already told me that—so Canada," he then tugged Canada from America. "What will you do? I'm sure you can pass up a 'ritzy' speakeasy," Canada licked his lips, looking towards England in a wordless request for assistance.

"Dude, don't start necking in front of all of these people," America snorted. "C'mon Frenchie-man, you can come too."

"No can do, unlike you, alcohol isn't illegal at my place," France winked and America simply grinned cheekily.

"Yeah, but that's what makes it the cat's meow—you're doing something illegal," he winked himself. "I promise you, it's really fun and—didn't I tell you not to neck Canadia?" America tugged Canada closer to himself to keep Francis from 'necking' him. England had no idea what America was saying, all he could conclude was that it all sounded absolutely ridiculous.

"America, please let go of me," Canada muttered. "Meeting's about to start and Germany's looking at us funny…if you just keep quiet, this meeting will go smoothly and we can get you home and make sure you don't do anything dumb…"

"What?" America furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and removed the fedora atop his head, tossing it onto the table. "What're you talking about? That bimbo Germany won't do anything if I talk I'm sure since that Treaty of Versailles is…stuff…and are you sick or something? I can take you home and give you some medicine if you want—_then_ we can visit that speakeasy."

"No America, I don't want to go to a speakeasy tonight," Canada muttered. Obviously, whatever speakeasy America was mentioning had likely been turned into something else or was closed down and full of dust. "I'm…not feeling good," that was the best excuse he had—hopefully this one wouldn't last as long as Spain's conquistador memory lapse—that had lasted four days during a weeklong meeting in Tokyo—poor guy was so confused and even scared that it made Romano doubt that Spain would ever return to normal. It was guaranteed that they'd go back to normal, but sometimes others really doubted it with how into it one could get.

One example was when Canada lapsed back to World War One—it had lasted two days and he wouldn't leave France's side, constantly sending Germany suspicious looks. He would then look at America with a pleading expression and America assumed that Canada had gone back to before he joined the war.

"How 'bout once this joint's over, we head for my place an' play some tunes?" America offered, tugging France closer by throwing his other arm around the Frenchman's shoulders. "Iggsters, you can come too—you need to learn the copacetic sounds of jazz—from the creator," he winked again before grinning jokingly at France. "Cash please."

"No can do," France grinned back and Canada blushed again. It was super likely that America was just joking around—but it still didn't keep him from turning red. How did France even understand America's wacky vocabulary again?

"What in bloody hell are they talking about?" England asked, leaning closer to Canada so neither America nor France could hear him. "I don't get the cash and check thing."

"Cash means a kiss, check means kiss me later, cash or check means kiss me now or later," Canada explained and England almost gagged on his own saliva. "D-don't worry—hopefully America's just joking around since he tended to do that all of the time with me…"

"You four—get in your seats, meeting's beginning," Germany muttered darkly, eye narrowed angrily in their direction. The guy obviously didn't want to raise his voice today—unfortunately he was getting his hopes too high. "And what's with their get up?" he then looked at England and Canada. "Those two better not be pulling some sort of prank."

"Uh, no-no—they're just having one of those moments we all have…" Canada shook his head. "Just don't mind them and hopefully nothing too crazy will happen."

Germany nodded his head and called for everyone to take their seats, announcing that the meeting was starting. Italy happily latched onto Germany, begging to be able to sit next to him even though his assigned seat _was_ next to Germany. "Hey~" Italy started, glancing over at France and America. "Why do France and America have those funny hats on Germany? Hey Germany, do you see them? They look funny~!"

"They're going through their 'moments'," Germany grunted lowly, shoving the small Italian off of him. "Like when Japan went samurai on us."

"Oh, that was pretty scary," Italy pointed out. "I was crying really loud because Japan was so loud and looked really angry, but I think deep down he was just scared," Italy smiled innocently up at Germany who hid his face in the palm of his hand. "You and a few others had to hold Japan down and I was really scared that you'd hurt Japan."

"Yes Italy…yes, that's what happened…"

The meeting progressed surprisingly without a hitch and once they had made it to their break, Germany looked like he was in heaven—he was currently happily murmuring to himself in a corner, Italy happily tugging at his sleeve and asking if they can have something Italian for lunch. "I should figure out what shut France and America up—it's good because France and England aren't fighting and America won't suggest stupid things like robots and super heroes because they hadn't exactly been 'invented' yet…or aliens…"

As Germany continued to mutter to himself about trying to find out how to make this memory lapse permanent, Italy continued to tug at his sleeve. "Hey Germany~" he smiled, eyes closed—a lot of countries wondered how he could 'see' with his eyes closed. "Germany, Germany, let's go have some pasta or hey! Mister scary guy with the big scarf gave me some stroganoff one day and it was really yummy~! Can we get some stroganoff?"

"Oh man, I'm starving!" America grinned brightly as he stood up enthusiastically. "Come on guys, I want to go get something to chow on, Frenchie, got anything on mind? How 'bout you Iggsters? Though I shouldn't be asking you since you lack taste buds…"

"I do not lack taste buds!" England barked, his voice slightly cracking. "It is _you _that is lacking taste buds!"

"I must agree with _Amerique_~" France grinned, rubbing his chin. "I'll be back."

"Where ya goin'?" America asked, cocking an eyebrow as he watched the Frenchman turn his back on the three of them. "Goin' off to cheat on Canadia and stare at some fine gams?"

"No, fished out a saxophone from my basement," France grinned, waving a hand over his head lazily. "Feel like playing during lunch."

"Oh nice! Wish I could play, but I ain't an egg like you," he grinned and France simply let his hand fall to his side in response. "Hah, what a guy—he's super good at them saxophone's I can tell you that much," America grinned, turning to the other two countries, fiddling with the edge of the fedora before leaving the accessory alone. "C'mon Canadia—"

"It's Canada…"

"Let's go, these meetings are boring," America urged, nodding his head towards the doors that allowed entrance and vice versa to the large meeting room. "We can eat some lunch once Frenchie comes back and then have us a good time."

"No America, just lunch and then we're coming straight back here," England remarked, shoving America out of the meeting room, Canada following.

"Ya see? This is why I call Iggsters a wet blanket."

"I am _not_ a 'wet blanket'," England muttered. "And stop calling me Iggsters," the word sounded funny coming off of his own tongue. "Here—let me call France and tell him where we're going and—oh wait, he might not know how to use a cell phone…"

"Oh sweet, what's that nice knick-knack you've got there?" America's eyes glued on the green and silver cell phone in England's hand, thoroughly interested in the object. "Does it glow like those other things that make words?"

England really wished he had a recorde—oh wait, he did. Flipping his phone open, England started the camera—America hearing himself not knowing what a cell phone is would freak giving how addicted to texting the superpower was. The phone beeped and America's expression only contorted into one of even more interest. "Oh that's nifty—it makes noises too!"

"Uh, yeah, sure thing America."

"Can that glowing note pad in your hand do anything else?" America asked, calling the cell phone a note pad since it was the only thing it resembled in his eyes. "Can the note pad make words too like the bigger one?"

"Yes it can America," England smiled. Canada rolled his eyes at the strange behavior England was displaying at the moment, but didn't verbally show it—England should be able to have his own fun too. "You can hear voices on the other side too."

"Whoa, did you use your wacky magic tricks on it?" America piped, snatching the cellular from England only to have it tugged out of his hands by said European country. "Oh no wait—it's like a radio right?"

England thought over that. Well, cell phones basically were two way radios… "Yes, like a radio America."

"Hah, I knew it—your wacky magic can't do anything ritzy," America grinned and England felt his eye twitch in irritation. America sure was a bit blunt with things though _was_ a bit laid back…wasn't it the 'Roaring Twenties' for a reason? He'd assumed that America was some wild child then…flirting with 'flappers' and stuff like that.

"Yeah…that'd be ridiculous…"

III

Neither Canada nor England expected to be eating lunch while America and France hosted a small performance for random people. England would have to admit, France actually _was_ pretty good at the saxophone while America sang, complaining in between songs about a bass not exactly being very portable. The hats they wore still bothered him for some reason though—but then again, when England had arrived at a meeting once decked out in Victorian styled clothing, the top hat he wore probably bothered America with how much he kept staring at him…either that or it was the monocle…

He also noticed a slight similarity in between his and America's dual memory lapse and the one America and France were going through right now. Sure, they were on completely different subjects, but with two people, it just happened to be on something they both experienced. So if another one happened with two people for example, he and France would think that they were still pirates. He groaned and rested his head in his hands—that would end in bloodshed for sure.

Looking up, he watched the two 'street performers' sway to their music. People didn't exactly hear this genre of music as often as back then clearly and were slightly intrigued at France and America's choice. England couldn't exactly understand how one could play an instrument either with their eyes closed, but then again, if he _really_ felt like it, he could shred on a guitar with his eyes closed. He huffed as some people dropped money into the saxophone case France had left open at his feet—lucky guy. If they were anywhere else, he wouldn't be able to use that money.

England looked up at the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. Why did they make it again? Honestly. The second Germany had realized that France and America were historically out of place, he had decided to run the meeting (since that's what normally happened, one would be in charge, but eventually Germany would take over because all that happened was chaos). "Ugh, how much time do we have left before meeting starts again?"

Canada checked his watch. "We have plenty of time—hopefully they don't freak when we use the projector—things like television didn't even exist back then last time I checked," Canada sighed as he shook his head. The two glanced at the other two countries doing the thing they did best in the nineteen twenties—create music. And they were making quite a bit of money off of it.

"Ugh, sometimes I really wish I could make money as easily as that," England sighed, shaking his head. Just because they were a country didn't mean that they were paid for being one. Yeah, they did get quite a bit of money from their government and bosses or something like that, but they weren't allowed to spend it on things they wanted, so they sometimes had to find a job or do what France and America were currently doing. How much have those two managed to rake up so far? Quite a bit from what England was seeing.

"Yeah, same," Canada sighed himself. "I used to make money by 'bootlegging' with America and I'm not exactly proud of it…that's basically working with the gangsters—met Al Capone, one of the big guns back then."

"That's interesting," England nodded his head. "The guy that basically ran the streets of Chicago or something like that? Illegal alcohol?"

"Yup," Canada nodded his head in confirmation. "He was a pretty intimidating guy—I did _not_ like being around him," Canada muttered.

When there was about twenty minutes left of their break, America and France stopped what they were doing and joined England and Canada for lunch. Immediately after though, they returned to doing their thing. Eventually England and Canada had to drag the two back to the location of the meeting, Francis placing his saxophone in the case and grinning at the amount of what America called 'dough' in the case.

They were currently in their seats at the meeting table, about half of those attending the meeting actually present at the correct time. Germany looked a bit peeved at having so many late, but still looked a tad euphoric at not having to raise his voice as excessively as when America and France were in their right minds.

"Okay~!" Italy piped happily once everyone was present. "Germany! Germany! Can I start? Please~?"

"Ugh, yes, you may start Italy…" Germany muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Yay~! Okay guys, let's start~!" he twirled over to the podium at the front of the table and worked on the laptop that would operate the projector. He turned it on and was about to start his presentation about something that was way off topic of what he was originally assigned, America stood up and pointed at the pull down screen.

"Holy—! How'd that work?"

"_Mon dieu_, I think I'm in the future…" France said, pounding a fist on the table.

Italy tilted his head to the side, obviously confused and still unaware of the fact that they two were going through one of those 'moments' all countries went through. "What? Did the projector do something?" he turned around and looked at the projector that was displaying a huge picture of a plate of spaghetti on the screen. "I don't see anything wrong…"

"You made a picture appear on that curtain—tell me how you did it!" America demanded, a huge grin stretching at his lips. England ducked down, blushing at America's words—this was horrifyingly embarrassing.

III

He'd never really done it before, but napping to some soft live jazz was rather nice—especially if it was coming from a different room. France had returned to playing his saxophone, having refused to part with it ever since he had brought it to lunch earlier that day. England rolled onto his stomach, hugging the pillow closer to himself. The meeting had gone rather smoothly too—Germany looked like he was starting to doubt that he was awake and even had asked Italy to pinch him.

It was embarrassing though with France and America jumping at every huge technological step they hadn't experienced yet in the nineteen twenties. Especially when America spoke with that really strange vocabulary—he just sounded absolutely ridiculous, that was the only thing England could say about it.

America strolled in, grinning at the sight of England half asleep on the couch, most of his suit still on—that was such an un-England like thing for him to do. "You enjoying France's jazz playin'?" he grinned.

"Surprisingly—yes," England cracked an eye open. "He's better than I had originally assumed before—err…" he couldn't exactly say 'before you two lost your heads and then he actually played in front of me' because America currently thought that it actually was the nineteen twenties. He didn't exactly have to explain it to America anyways mostly because he was eventually going to remember who, where and when he was within time. "Well, he's just never played in front of me personally."

"Oh man, why is that? Is it because you two have beef with each other or whatever all of that baloney is?" there was more of that strange vocabulary. "Pfft! I'd listen to Russia play some smooth jazz, but he's not ritzy enough of course."

"What makes you say that? He could have some music age…"

"Aww, are you taking sides?" America pouted.

"No…" England muttered, propping himself up onto on elbow. "I'm just saying Russia could have a music age like you and France are."

"What do you mean by that?" oh, whoops.

"I'm sure this'll be called the Jazz Age or something like that," England waved a hand in the air quickly. He thought back a bit—when did they start getting into a relationship? Around World War Two, so he shouldn't do anything intimate…that was disappointing. "…So, Canada's your uh…'bootlegger'?"

"Oh yeah man, he's a pretty copacetic bootlegger," America grinned, leaning on the arm of the couch in a rather flirty way. "Imagining you as a bootlegger is rather keen~"

England had no idea what the hell America had just said, but with the way he said it and the way he was currently looking at him, England assumed that keen meant something along the lines of sexy. He huffed and buried his head in the pillow in an attempt to hide his blush. He muttered something into the object, voice muffled so badly that all America heard was a mix of noises.

He was about to say something when France hit an awkward note and abruptly stopped playing. "What's up Frenchie?"

"_Maintenant le Canada?"_ France asked from the room he was in. There was a brief pause before France continued. "_Si vous le dites~"_

_ "_I didn't mean it like that!" Canada wailed and France began laughing before he started playing another tune on his saxophone again. "Listen to me!"

"Canadia's just throwin' a cow, don't worry," America grinned, looking back down at England who stared blankly back up at the spectacled country. "So…" he started, leaning back on the arm of the couch, raising an eyebrow slyly. "Wanna do somethin' tonight? I've a few nifty ideas, I'm sure you'll love my speakeasies."

"No thanks," England huffed and America mirrored the Briton's answer, crossing his arms as well.

"Fine, I'll take Francy-pants with me," he turned and started for the room France was in. "Hey Frenchie! Wanna go to a few speakeasies with me?"

"Don't you remember that we're not in America?"

"But we can fly over—the meeting can go the last two days without us," America suggested, shrugging his shoulders as if it were no big deal—and to him at the moment, that was the case. "The best are normally in the Big Apple," he continued, sauntering over to France and throwing an arm around the Frenchman's shoulders.

"Uh, America, I don't really think that's a good idea," Canada muttered. "How about you two just keep making money off of your music?" he then suggested—he really didn't want them to leave for America on their own mainly because they were mentally in the wrong time period and Canada didn't feel like going to America—England probably felt the same as well.

England watched America reenter the room with a pout, arms crossed childishly. "Canadia doesn't want us to go to my place for some reason—he never used to be so uh…stuff over something like this—what's up with him?"

"He has his reasons," England shrugged his shoulders, knowing all too well what those reasons were. America trotted over and seated himself heavily on the couch. If England hadn't pulled his legs away from that end of the couch, America would've seated himself painfully (on both ends) on them.

"Okay Iggsters, did ya notice them ritzy breezers drivin' 'round the place during lunch? Man! Francy-pants really has improved his cars! They're pretty nifty looking!" America grinned. England had no idea what America was talking about, so he just agreed with the out of date country. "And did you see that bike?" he must be talking about motorcycles now.

England listened and agreed to everything America said, whether he understood him or not. He really had no interest in their topic either since they were talking about France. "Man, this place is like strollin' into the future!"

"Sure."

"I mean—did you see that nifty radio with pictures on it? Kind of like that thing that made pictures appear on that curtain, but they were moving this time! Say, what're ya gonna do for Christmas?"

"It's June."

"Oh, sorry pal," America grinned sheepishly and itched at the back of his head. "But I swear, yesterday it was December…dunno, might be going through one of them things—like when Italy strolled in one day, thinking he was still in the Renaissance era."

"Yup."

"…Hey, are you still crabbing over Wilson?" America asked, poking one of England's feet with his own toes. "'Cause I'm not gonna say I'm agreeing with you no matter what—it's just gonna lead to somethin' big and nasty," oh, how right America was…

"…Oh. Sure," he was still glad that he didn't listen to America back then…

III

"Good morning England," Canada greeted as he walked into the cafeteria the hotel held. Late at night, England and Canada had drug America back to the hotel they had booked rooms in since said American didn't seem bent on leaving France's home. They had warily let America stay in his room alone, but told him not to leave it under any circumstance. "Has America come down yet?"

"Nope, probably sleeping in like always—that's one thing that hasn't changed about him," England shook his head. He then sighed. "Hopefully he knows to come down at least—we didn't tell him that he could come down in the morning."

"Hm, maybe I should stop by and check up on him," England suggested. America's look-alike nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah, you should check on him right now because the meeting's kind of early today…"

England found himself standing outside of America's hotel room, slightly hoping that the American was back to normal and refrained from using words like 'ritzy' and 'breezer' because, he won't admit it, England preferred 'homie' and 'y'all'. At least France didn't use America's absurd nineteen twenties vocabulary—that'd just be…he didn't even have a word for it.

He knocked on the door, waited a few seconds and then knocked on the door a bit harder, calling out for America since the other hadn't answered yet.

"'M comin', 'm comin'…" came America's voice, tired and even pained. England cocked an eyebrow when he took in America's appearance once the other had swung the door open. His hair was disheveled, lacked Texas and looked down right exhausted. "Ugh…dude, headache—did we go out drinking with Frenchie…?"

"No, you went through the infamous memory lapse we all go through," England answered and America rubbed his head with a groan. "But I am happy that it only lasted a day."

"Good…'cause I think we said that the longer they last, the more painful they are…" America muttered before stepping aside so England could enter his room. England entered the room, remembering the last time he had a memory slip up—all he could say was that the resulting headache was _much_ worse than any hangover he'd experienced. "So, what time did I think I was?"

"You're Jazz Age and France went with you."

"Hm? Really? Wow, seems like when there's simultaneous memory things, they're on the same subject—what'd he do? I know I had this really whacked up vocab."

"He made tons of money off of playing jazz with you on the streets during lunch break," England answered and America huffed, muttering under his breath that he wished he could make money that easily these days. "And you did have a 'whacked' up vocabulary—what in bloody hell is a 'breezer'? And why were you asking France—of all people—for a kisses?"

"Hah! We totally goofed around with that shit back then," America waved a hand in the air lazily. "I told him that acting like a French guy was as easy as asking for a 'cash or check'. Oh, and a breezer is a convertible—the car."

"I know what a convertible is you git," England muttered. "And you two were a huge embarrassment during the meeting."

"I can only imagine—I mean, didn't I freak at the projector? That's the only thing I vaguely remember…" America tapped his chin before shaking his head and wincing at the action. "C'mon, let's go get some breakfast and I want to get a glass of water—head's killing me…where on earth did I get ahold of this in Paris?" he picked up the out of date suit and England shook his head—having not the faintest clue.

As they arrived in the cafeteria, Canada waved them over with a smile. "Hey America, how are you?"

"Terrible, head's gonna explode any minute."

"So I'm assuming he's back to normal?" Canada asked, turning to look at England who nodded his head in confirmation. "That's good to hear, hopefully France's back to normal too."

"We'll figure out at the meeting—maybe he'll be dead, because I don't think I'll survive much longer with a headache like this," America groaned, seating himself carefully in the chair across from Canada. "This sucks balls man…"

"Watch your language," England muttered, smacking America on the arm lightly as he seated himself next to said superpower. "Just because I'm fine with swearing, doesn't mean language that vulgar is accepting."

"Shut up, you're making no sense," America complained, resting his head on the table. "Get me a water Canadia, I'm hurting over here…"

III

If France knew a song about hating one's own life—he'd be singing it right now from what England and Canada were seeing. America would probably be singing the English version of it too, but alas, they didn't know such tunes. Canada did, but nobody needed to know that.

Germany, although a bit bummed about the two being back to normal, was happy nonetheless that America and France weren't causing trouble due to the side effects memory lapses came with.

"I remember putting my mouth on something, but it definitely wasn't Canada…" France muttered, America humming, having likely not understood a single word France had said while Canada turned bright red at what it implied. "I'm assuming it was that saxophone I woke up with…"

England rolled his eyes from his seat across the table before throwing a spare pen at the Frenchman's head, hitting its target. The Frenchman clearly winced at the assault, but remained silent as England spoke. "Man up you two—America, this is your third one and France, your fifth, you should expect it."

They couldn't tough since they were basically three fourths unaware of what was going on during memory lapses, but England couldn't help but blame them—their complaining was getting irritating. America muttered under his breath about not wanting to go through another one ever again, but unfortunately it was unavoidable.

**XXXX**

** Italy's so cute isn't he? I liked writing for him in that small part :3 Hm, this was long, took a while to type out and I intended for it to turn out a bit differently but bleargh. I fail boated on this one TT^TT That kind of upsets me, but oh well…I like this idea because it makes sense doesn't it? You're bound to have a memory tick if you live for like, a couple of millennia. So please review, love to hear what you have to say and peace out my friends ;D**

**Fun Fact: People used to think tomatoes were poisonous.**


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